quidnovis61

Nope I dont think I have written about Maggie and Reggie

They have lived in our garden and the birch forest across the road for the past 5 years.

Maggie and Reggie.

My lovely sweet cheeky naughty crazy noisy intelligent territorial – MAGPIES!

Always together. Happy in each other’s companionship.

I sit in the garden or in the Sun Lounge and watch them as they hop about on both legs, pull fresh earthworms out of the ground a greedily gulp them down – and then suddenly the mild quiet morning is ripped apart by their loud chack-chack-chack and they have instinctively flown off on to the safety of the roof or the trees, disturbed by something or someone...

All those who use “bird-brained” in a derogatory sense ought to come and sit quietly in my garden and observe these diminutive feathered creations – they are everything other than daft, stupid or unintelligent. In fact over the years of watching them I have come to the conclusion that they really are the opposite. It is an amazing lesson in ornithology to just sit and watch them at a distance so as not to threaten them. How cleverly they forage for food, how adept in geography they are, how territorial, how adept at protecting “their patch”. Fellow intruders are certainly NOT welcome. Maggie chacks at them angrily and shrilly and there is quite a fight after that…just look at the pictures!! They tell their own story….

 
The alarm is sounded by a long CHAAAACK!


And here is Mr Intruder and Maggie is NOT pleased!



Mags mutterring with displeasure....

I do not like to “bribe and tame” them with food and seeds. They are quite tame on their own and with very few natural enemies. Man has gained power over their territory and has automatically almost domesticated these creatures whose fore fathers have lived in the wild with their own norms of survival. I like to leave them alone – if they do not feel threatened by us then they are welcome to near us – on their terms and conditions.

Maggie and Reggie are really funny to watch…they both hate the rain! I know this will sound really daft but their faces do change expression! They look so grumpy, their eyes lose their intelligent twinkle, they shiver and shudder – and smart as they are, they fly and take refuge under our picnic table waiting patiently for the rain to cease and looking so miserable….It makes me smile looking at them - they have their own personal traits – and so human…    (or is it we who have these avian traits?????)

And so Maggie and Reggie have kept me company through snow hail rain and shine perching on the window sill looking in cheekily as I work o read, flying away chack-chacking loudly when I scold them for eating the winter bird seeds for the tiny birds, or hopping, endlessly busy in their avian world – and we live amicably side by side going about our daily business.

But this summer Mags and Regs had a HUGE surprise for us!

They had a baby! I have christened her/him Mareg.

I have been watching them and wondering what they have been up to. They have been checking the fir tree in our neighbour’s garden right next to our car port. Flying there with branches and leaves and moss. Magpies make huge untidy nests – I quite like that! They don’t bother keeping up with the Smiths and Joneses! And all summer there has been such loud chacking from the old fir tree an da lot of traffic…

One lovely summer morning as we sat on the front deck outsideI was delighted ot hear Maggie chacking loudly, showing off and trying to get our attention almost! And flying to the cherry tree and on to the fir tree and tehn back again with a cherry in her mouth and on to the roof on and on and back and forth until it dawned on me! THERE it was! Little hungry baby Mareg! Wanting food and more food and chirping loudly, quite a bald head and skinny as the feathers hadn’t grown yet. It was so delightful watching them feed their young and a new generation begins!

I couldn’t stop smiling all evening…......Here are the photos. Look and smile at them, you too!

Maggie getting a cherry from the tree for Mareg...



Little Hungry Mareg ...waiting patiently

WHERE is Mummy mags?


Aaaahhh THERE she is!

Mummy! I want mooooooooore!

CHACK-CHACK-Chack and Bye for now....

CS!

SUMMER is long gone and now that it is at its end one feels a strange sense of emptiness, yes, even a kind of “summer-guilt”. This year it is a “New Era” that starts in our life: NO school-bags get packed, NO school clothes get ironed, NO school buses to catch NO hurried breakfasts to down…. It is a lazy sort of autumn that we meet this year… we potter about in the garden in no hurry, we make jams and jellies and squash from the fruits and berries in our garden…

All our summer-memories are put away into jam jars, into shoe boxes, neatly labelled and shelved away in the store room of our souls, things long planned but never completed yet again are wrapped neatly in silken tissues of guilt, summer visitors are said good bye to and lovingly pasted into albums or stored digitally in clearly marked Files. A sense of ” vacuous void” returns as the sky turns empty and blue-grey, the playgrounds are now noisy in their silence and one swallows yet another lump in the throat as one goes about ones daily chores.

They say that it is better to look forward to the joys that are in store than to look back in sorrow at that which is gone but still this feeling washes over me every time summer comes to its end. In Scandinavia it is truly a time for sadness as the long cold winter gnaws at ones heel and it is a full year until more precious summer memories can be gathered and hoarded away in the lockers of our mind.

Memories come flooding back. Of other summers in the hot dusty plains of India, the never ending summers that we always took for granted – paradoxically longing for the winter!!!. Someone called Tommy Hammarsten (Iauthor/Swedish) has said “I saknadens mörkrum framkallas ljusa minnesbilder” which in a quick rough translation is: “Vivid/bright photos are developed in the darkroom of nostalgia” 

I have so often thought of that sentence....bright and happy memories that seem to crop up from nowhere in the mind. A fleeting sight of a dragonfly, a slight whiff of a certain dish cooking, the far away strains of a few bars of music, the taste on the tip of the tongue can conjure up memories long long forgotten.

In dreamlike sequences, sometimes.

In tangible visions, sometimes.

This summer has been a summer of memories. I wonder Why? Is it the signs of the times… Is it a feeling of the transient nature of a Scandinavian summer…. Or is it just the way I am? I find myself going back, back, back in time, travelling in my mind, zipping at unknown mach speeds, re-living, re-tasting the images in my heart.

I am at once a four year old: howling at not been allowed to drink milk with Cadbury’s Drinking Chocolate, gleeful at the prospect of an afternoon walk in the nearby park with grandfather (which always meant a treat of roasted peanuts from the peanut-wallah in the park!)

And I am at once a forty year old: scowling at not being allowed to have the leisure-time to do as I wish, smiling at the prospect of hearing Elizabeth play my favourite music on the piano, revelling in the aroma of my steaming coffee.

And a plethora of memories,

A myriad of sights and sounds that fill the years in between.

I sit by my computer. Thoughts twirl in my head like phantoms of a distant opera. I look out of the window. The birch forest across the road is drenched in late summer sunshine. I open the window and drink in the crystalline air. And listen to the birds, postman-Anders’ yellow car drives- stops-drives at every mailbox. But otherwise it is so quiet and peaceful. And I find myself wandering in that country of the past...! And it is so true. I am lucky to be coming from India because some things haven’t really changed and the past is still there...in some instances. In others it is all gone and exists now only as a figment of ones imaginations and thoughts.                                                            

It is with a heavy heart that I ponder over the passing of time....if these 40+ years have swished past so fast what are the next 40 (or so) years going to be like?

I think of Aunts and Uncles in their 80s now. I remember them as youngish grownups still in their late 30s, strong and in my young eyes, capable of all the heroic deeds I could imagine. My Uncles could throw me in the air and catch me giggling joyfully in their arms. These aunts and uncles of my parents generation who thought nothing of staying up all night partying and having fun are now ready for bed by ten, the numerous dinners at our place where guests stayed on to long after midnight. And as a child , the excitement of watching through a door left slightly ajar (accidentally?) the grown-ups dance and laugh, talk and mingle, eat and drink.

“They were such happy times and not so long ago....”  (Carpenters) and sometimes  when I see them now or think of them it is hard to imagine that I am now what they used to be....what a paradox!

I am here and family/friends in India, meetings are rare and few between. Global hi-tech keeps alive the contacts of yesteryears, bridging the gap of my childhood and adulthood. When I think in terms of Elizabeth, I find that I am a bit sad that she will not be able to share in the same memories of my people and places. The joys of an extended family. The numerous hot afternoons spent under the shady trees in the scorching summer, the lazy afternoons spent sleeping in the sunny balcony in the mild winters. Murmuring and planning the evening to come. Shopping sprees in magical shops that had everything a little girl could dream of. Shopping that always ended in ice cream treats. The shops are still there but are now encased in huge glass windows, emaciated mannequins display the wares, second hand bookshops where I spent many a teenage hour, browsing are now fitted with modern shelves of light wood and alphabetically organised. Smartly dressed youngsters ask politely: Any particular book you are looking for, madam? By the way, when did I become “Madam”? The musty smell of old books now long gone; the piles on the floors where one had to be adept at Callisthenics in order to see the spines of the books are a part of my memories. Now one has to be able to have a “particular” book in mind...the art of browsing is a dying one! The second hand LP shops on the back streets of Calcutta are now replaced by flashy shops selling ready made garments with names like van Heusen belting out MTV music - not ABBA or the Bee Gees or Boney M. Shopping sprees end now at Pizza Hut or milkshake at McDonalds.

Well, in all fairness, I like the new music too and smoothies...let it not be said that I am a hindrance to progress and prosperity!

This summer has been spent meditating and with many flashbacks to feed the hungry soul. I have the luxury of having my laptop with me out in the Sun Lounge or my shady Italian Garden with my afternoon cup of coffee, strawberries..…. it is nice to be able to sit quietly and be a part of the garden. Yet another lazy kind of afternoon. Just me - and the late summer bees and crazy flies buzzing nonstop. My cheeky magpie looks curiously at me through the glass windows as he tugs at an earthworm and has his mid-day meal. The sky is so, so blue! The lavender in the garden smells heavenly. But this morning it was -1°C and all my fragile plants died in the sudden frost. I have to get some heather.... 

 
I read in a Tony Parsons book:

“Plead the fleeting moment to remain.”           

 ....this is one of those moments.....

Actually

I am at a loss for words...Yeah, you never thought you would hear ME say that, now did you?? Well it is nevertheless true! For once I actually am...

It was Elizabeth's turn to mow the lawn yesterday and on coming in she says:

Mummy, I think  the babies have come. I heard tiny chirping from Cranberry Cottage when I was in the garden...

No, I did not believe her

And in the late afternoon I sat in the Sun Lounge drinking coffee and I was delighted to see Tweety and Chirpy flying at mach speeds in and out, round about, over and under, back and forth and I was of course pleased to see such activities going on.- because it has been rather Quiet on the Western Front there for a while And if course I went and got my ever faithful friend The Canon. (My camera, not the local cathedral priest!) And so there was a Whole Lotta Clickin' Goin' On...

And then I realised that the stuff in their beaks and all that feverish flying about was not moss, twigs and feathers! IT WAS FOOD!! And when both Tweety and Chirp flew away for a split second, I crept gingerly up to the Cottage and would you believe it?

Elizabeth was RIGHT!!! There were tiny tiny Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep-s coming from within... It was amazing and wonderful and absolutely enthralling.

Nope, I shan't write more.

I cant write more.

It is too amazing!

And although I have no pictures and wont ever have any of the Tiny Tots in there - I have heard them and I see Tweety and Chirp flying in and out with delicious yummy protein diet of worms, larva (VERY GREEN and JUICY!) and insects for the young ones. Soon they will be strong enough to fly, soar and reach for the stars...

I will let the pictures speak for themselves

Signing off for now, with a tweet and a chirp!
C.S

I don't know if you know this or not but we have a cottage in our garden this year. We put it up last autumn and I hammered and nailed away, Per held the ladder and Elizabeth did the camera documentation.... Oh, it was such fun. We chose the best spot in the garden so it would have a great Room with a View. In the early spring we had one or two couples who were interested but it didn't suit their purposes it seems and so we waited. It is Spring/Summer and one really does not need to advertise. If one is patient, it will soon be rented out. And so we waited a few days and soon we had Mr and Mrs Blau who were very interested in the cottage and made a few trips back and forth to have a good look at it. And finally decided that it was a lovely cottage indeed and that they would be very happy here and they didn't mind the proximity to us - we are living quite close to each other here.

And so we signed a contract. We have now officially rented out Cranberry Cottage for the entire season. The rent, we decided, would be paid on an "As and When" basis. It actually works out rather well. We are being paid very handsomely indeed and so happy about the extra joys this rent brings to our family. We certainly could do with this little extra income...

And we are indeed grateful to Mr and Mrs Blau. They are such a lovley sweet couple.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And so it came about that one very bright spring day we noticed Chirp and Tweety flying about, back and forth, in the bushes around the Cottage quite excitedly. Chirp would sit on the Cottage roof or the branches and chirp very loudly indeed and Tweety would reply and then they would change places... sometimes they were there together...and this continued for a few days. I think they were deciding on whether to rent the cottage after all... and if so, where to buy the furniture and go shopping etc. IKEA for a good soft bed of moss and feathers and leaves and twigs? The garden supermarket for worms and tiny insects? The Jönsson's Restaurant where there is a variety of grains to be had? The kitchen garden for a fresh feast of coniferous seeds and delicious new cones?

They finally decided that this really would be a good place to give birth to young ones and raise them up to be good kind decent citizens of Aves.  And so the feverish activity of "moving in" started.

Chirp and Tweety are a species, of Cyanistes caeruleus (Latin)  - but most unfortunately -  called Blue Tits in the Queen's Lingo, Yes, I know. I feel my face twitch with silent laughter as well but then there it is. Absolutely NOTHING to do with Pamela Anderson I assure you - the only thing in common is their ancestry: Both have Scandinavian ancestors!! But then this certainly is proof that Language is not static. Meanings change constantly. Etymologically Tits, as a nomenclature for these intelligent denizens of our natural world is from the 14^th century! There are Marsh Tits and Blue Tits (yes we have a number of both in the garden) and Great Tits (no, don't smile, it is not supposed to be a Pamela-pun).

So Tweety and Chirp moved in...many many days of flying back and forth with moss and twigs and feathers. A lot of loud chirping and excitement - well, in all fairness, wouldn't you too - if you were deciding on a new sofa set and matching curtains and crockery and cutlery for your new home? It is a joy to sit in the Sun Lounge and watch them slowly build up the nest inside and hear them discussing and debating. Lately the activity has abated and so I suppose they are happy with their purchases.

The "cottage" (named Cranberry Cottage because our address is Cranberry Path) cannot be opened and one cannot and of course should not look in either. It has a metal protection around the window (hole) so that bigger birds cannot peck at the wood and make the hole bigger and get in. Woodpeckers around here are adept at it, I can tell you! The hole has a particular dimension too, that enables only this size of birds to comfortably fly in/out.

And fly in and out they certainly do.

There is a lot to be learnt from these tiny intelligent creatures if one just quietly watches them. I protest loudly to the term
Birdbrained meaning stupid or daft. The person who coined it most certainly didn't watch the birds and see the intelligence in their eyes or the hard working ambitious characteristics in their lives nor their resilient tenacity.

The neighbour's cat I think knows that Chirp and Tweety live there...but cats are really daft! I have seen him pouncing and chasing wasps, butterflies and bumble bees...but they fly away or rather they ZAP! away from him and he is left looking so surprised and rather indignant. Likewise with the birds - they are so swift. And I hope they will continue to be so.

The photos tell their entire story. I hope to hear the chirping of little babies (or the tiny patter of feet as we would say!) and finally I hope to be able to see them fly out of the cottage and soar into the blue blue sky of our brave new world.

These last three pictures are from the Internet where they have been able to take these marvellous pictures and monitor their activities with a webcam fitted inside the bird house. I don't have these hi tech facilities at Cranberry Cottage but I am grateful for the photos The Blau Family offers and generously shares with me.





Signing off for now with a tweet and a chirp!
C.S

And so the saga of my Prickles continues...

This year we are really getting spoilt by gorgeous beautiful spring weather - all of April and a few days in May. And I am out on my early morning walks everyday....Everyday there are new things to see in the forest. It is bursting with new life. Have you seen Disney's Bambi? Here is a conversation between Owl and Bambi Flower, Thumper that sums it all up!

Flower: [about two birds fluttering around] Well! What's the matter with them?
Thumper: Why are they acting that way?
Friend Owl: Why, don't you know? They're twitterpated.
Flower, Bambi, Thumper: Twitterpated?
Friend Owl: Yes. Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example: You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!
Thumper: Gosh, that's awful.
Flower: Gee whiz.
Bambi: Terrible!
Friend Owl: And that ain't all. It could happen to anyone, so you'd better be careful.
[points at Bambi]
Friend Owl: It could happen to you...
[points at Thumper]
Friend Owl: ... or you, or even...
[Flower looks at Owl shyly]
Friend Owl: Yes, it could even happen to you!
Thumper: Well, it's not gonna happen to me.
Bambi: Me neither.
Flower: Me neither.

Friend Owl: Same thing every spring. "Tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet! Tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet!" Love's sweet song. H´rrrmph! Pain in the pinfeathers, I call it!

So now you know...as Owl knows best:  Its all going TWITTERPATED!

And so has Prickles!

After my morning walk I came in to the house by way of the garden, looking for signs of Nature's Twitterpat and there was plenty of that! It was 7.30 am and the sun was warm and bright and there at the bottom of the garden I heard a faint rustle and then a distinctive khoff-khofff-khof sound. Surprised I turned around and guess WHO was there?

Yup, Prickles and in pure Spring Twitterpat fashion he had a GIRLFRIEND with him! And Prickles looked cheekily at me as if to say: I did good, huh? She is pretty, huh? You like her too, huh?

Prickles by now feels quite comfortable around the house I guess because he did not roll up into a tight prickly ball as all hedgehogs do at the slightest disturbance. His girlfriend did - but not Prickles. Not even when I took out my mobile phone to take pictures at close range.

After a short debate over names, Elizabeth and I decided her name would be Pretty. So now Pretty and Prickles are somewhere around... either in the forest or in the garden or... who knows?

And then...a few days later...he was back in our garage, this time by Elizabeth's cycle. He really feels good around here and likes the "homey" feeling I think. And once again, even when we - all three -were bustling around him taking pictures, getting my camera, talking loudly he was not afraid and didn't roll into a ball. We have deliberately left last years Autumn Leaves in the corners of our open garage (a car port) and maybe he likes it there. Hedgehogs simply love rustling leaves and thickets and like the sense of camouflage and safety it gives them. But doesn't he look naughty, cheeky, impish, mischievous?? Just look at his expression!

I wonder where Pretty is? Did he ditch her already (I hope not, she looked very beautiful and kind indeed!) or is she somewhere making a home and waiting for tiny baby hedgehogs? Well Time will tell and if we find them - by chance. No, we don't feed them or go looking for Prickles or try to tame them. If we see them its fine. If they feel safe they will come out. They are wild things and should be allowed to sharpen their instincts and sense of survival. They have so few natural enemies now a days and I am afraid The Car is their biggest enemy.

Well, I have bloggered about

Prickles I: The Hibernating Hedgehog,

Prickles II: Awake Now!

Prickles III: Growing Up

And let us see if there will be a blog on Prickles IV - The Dad.
Time will tell.

Signing off

C.S

Early last autumn I wrote about Prickles and if you remember, he was a rather modern hedgehog preferring to hibernate in an old plastic bag under the shelves in our garage - either he is very modern, wanting a fresh plastic bag for his winter home or a rather lazy hedgehog not wanting to go through the annual hassle of fixing a home. I have heard him shuffling and snoring and making hedgehoggy noises one evening this winter so I knew he was still there... maybe he was having hedgehoggy dreams?

Well the news now is... SPRING IS HERE!! I mean really and truly...

Coz ....

Yesterday when I parked the car in the garage... the plastic bag was protruding out and he had pushed out a car sponge from under the shelf...and NO Prickles anywhere! So he must have crept out at night (being nocturnal animals) and gone looking for food - he must be ravenous! Oh dear! I do hope he finds all the delicacies that nature can provide for him...

Well, it was nice to have a lodger all winter. I was amply paid (as rent) by the sheer joy of having such a distinguished visitor under my roof - or my shelf, as the case may be.

Signing off for now

C.S

Yes it is Easter and there are many ways to celebrate it... The "traditional" religious/ Christian celebration or, as it is for me, a turning point of the year after the bleak dull grey cold Scandinavian winter - it is the season of Hope - Spring. And thereby a celebration of Life itself.

April is one of the most beautiful months I can imagine. Etymologically this month seems to have derived its name from the Latin "to open" - aperire - or even in Modern Greek ‘april' which means opening. There are other theories as well. One of them being that it was Aphrodite's month named after her (Aphros in Greek) or even as far back as her Etruscan (ca. 800 BC!!!) name Apru... I don't know which is accurate but I do like the theory of the Latin aperire. So I think I will stick to that...

All winter I have chanted like a mantra P.B Shelley's lines: "If Winter be here, can Spring be far behind?" anticipating the transformation so longed for....and now finally after the desolate barren days of winter, Spring is here in all its glory...

Birds sing in their sharp high sopranos, almost painfully beautiful. My magpies Maggie and Reggie and other tiny birds are in the garden busy foraging for building material for their nests and I see Maggie often swooping over the roof with a twig in her mouth sailing gracefully into a tree in the forest across the road.



The trees will soon be in tiny leaf, the birches around our house will be clothed in gossamer green - such a sight - it reminds me of bright green fluttering chiffon dupattas in India. My apple tree has been pruned for the season and soon will blossom with fragrant pink-white blooms. Everywhere in the garden as one parts the dead leaves of winter one finds signs of spring - and yes even earthworms that my blackbird couple Mr & Mrs Singh love to tug at...! (Yes, early in the morning actually... What is it one says...? "The early bird catcheth the worm." (1670)

My early morning walks can still be frosty. The earth is heavily scented with the damp soil getting ready to nourish its entire forthcoming offspring. The ditches are soon going to be filled with the excited shouts of small children playing in them - armed with butterfly nets on a pole, buckets and jam jars hunting for frog spawn, tadpoles, salamanders...and discovering life after all these months when the Earth seems to have been at a standstill.

It is a time for rebirth, anticipation and re-awakening and thereby Hope - and a time for dreams, plans, desires and expectations. I took these photos last spring ... I took them - one every alternate day - and literally saw these tiny flowers "in action" ... the memory of their resilience and fervour for life still does not fail to amaze me.

They were just there one day...tiny dots of white. These frail, Lilliputian snowdrops in my garden. When I parted the thicket of the rather prickly silver Japanese pine I was amazed at what I saw.  These fragile delicate blooms, the harbingers of Spring had made holes and pierced through the thick dead leaf of yester-winter. They had groped their way UP from the murky caliginous soil seeking the light...and in doing so even succeeded in lifting up the dead leaf! Such is the power of Hope and the whisper of God and Creation around us.

How better to illustrate Hope?

Signing off for now
C.S

In this time of global economic crisis and wars, with daily newspapers filled with doleful, distressing news reports coming in from all over the world, it was with delight I found and pounced on the barely noticeable news about Lee Redmond - nothing to be so happy about really, because she was involved in an accident. But it was nevertheless the tragicomical aspect that made it so interesting.

And so you are wondering: WHO is this Lee Redmond? No, no one has heard of her. No one probably remembers her accident. No one except those seriously interested in the Guinness World Records - and...yeah, ME!

The interesting thing about Ms Redmond of the US is that she has held the Guinness record for having the longest fingernails in the world; she has not cut her nails since 1979. In the Book of World Records I was illuminated with facts such as: total length of 86.5 cm; the longest nail is the right thumb: 90 cm; they are always carefully and perfectly manicured and so on and so forth...

But alas! for Ms Redmond this fantastic personal achievement was crushed in a crash. On 12^th Feb 09 she was in a car accident....and even made it to one of our leading Swedish dailies! It however did not tell me anything else about the crash: Were there others involved? Was anyone killed? Who was driving? How did the accident happen? Was she hurt? Where did this happen? - Yes, as you can see, there are any number of questions when being told of a car accident. All I could gather was that she was in a car accident and .... read this... just read this.... "Redmond's nails were broken off during a car accident, when Redmond was ejected from the car. Redmond had been growing her nails since 1979! "

So I sincerely hope that this is the entirety of what has happened to Ms Redmond and any one else involved in the accident - nothing more.

Although I sympathise with her on her ‘recent loss', I cannot help but muse upon her nails...I wonder what got her to start growing her nails in the first place? She must have been in her twenties when she started...What dud her friends say about that? Does she have an album full of pictures of herself showing her nails? Why did she want to do just this? How did she get this idea? Was it a dare? Did her boyfriend/husband/partner thrill at her long nails and vow to help care for them?

I look at my nails just a few mm long (or short as in this case), cut straight, clean and manicured...I am thankful for their help in my ADL (Activities in Daily Life). It gets me to contemplate on various Redmond-ADL scenarios ...

Ms Redmond goes to a concert, she is moved by the beautiful tenor, her throat constricts as the music flows through her in waves, she claps her hand at the end of the song ...Does her clapping sound like the smattering of far away sub machine guns in Gaza as nails collide in unison. What do the people around her say? "Shhhh, don't make so much noise!"...?

How does she drive her car? And even before that, how does she open the door to get in? Oh, silly me, but of course I am sure she has a driver!

She visits friends in Montana. It has just snowed heavily. It is minus degrees and freezing, How does she wear gloves? Aaaah, silly old me again... she does not go to places colder than +25°C!

Does she ever write? CAN she write, if so, how does she type on the keyboard? Or hold a pen? How does she sign her cheques? How does she punch her code to take cash out of an ATM? How does she shake hands with people she meets? Oh never mind, that is easy, she just says Namaste and clashes her palms and nails together and extricates them from the tangle as she politely makes conversation as if that is the most normal thing to do....with a low voiced Oh-heck-I-hope-I-didna-bust-em.... in between.

Moving on... personal questions: Bath? Toilet visit....or ought we not to ponder over that??? Scrubbing her face? Anti wrinkle cream around her eyes, Almond Milk & Honey lotion? Drying herself with a towel? Brushing her teeth, her platinum blond hair? Bra strap? (Ok guys, you have no idea the kind of intricate hand and finger activities that go into it, but the women will know exactly what I mean). Buttons and zippers? How about stockings/tights? (Yep, a female question, that too!) Tights run ladders in them if one just about breathes too harshly while pulling them up.... How did she sleep? And if she had children in the early years, how did she manage to care for them without not clawing their soft skin or poking them in the eyes, I wonder.

How does she take an aspirin pill? Does it roll down her nails like a child on a slide? Is it actually  possible to hold a hamburger? Or a knife and fork in an elegant-good-table-manners-way? How does she take a plate out of a stack on a shelf in the cupboard? Or hold a coffee cup? Did her life and people in it have to make several adjustments in order for her to continue holding this World Record? Is she able to pluck wild flowers on a forest walk in early spring like I do? Maybe she can, and comes up with tangled roots, moss, broken twigs et al... what do I know? Could she drain spaghetti from a saucepan into a colander? Chop onions and parsley? Dig in her garden? Take photos with a camera? Carry shopping bags? Open a Lindt chocolate bar wrapper (Not being able to do that would be a catastrophe for me) .

Yes, I could go on past these 1000 words or so...I am so fascinated by the whole phenomenon of this Lady with a Tremendous Talent for Titanic Talons....

I cannot begin to even comprehend the challenges this poor lady must have had and the seemingly insurmountable tiny problems in her ADL. How did she cope and manage? The more I reflect over her nails the more I begin to realise the paradox of it all. On one hand it seems almost heroic and adventurous to live in this way and at the same time ludicrous - to the point of being incomprehensibly daft and barmy.

No I haven't surfed on the Internet to glean more information about her accident or her nails or her present state of health post accident or her car or her family ... I am content to just get a 53 seconds respite from news of economic crisis, en masse redundancy, wars, homelessness, fires, starvation, murders, the thinning of the ozone layer, the melting icebergs.....and all the ills befalling our world and just sit by my computer - ruminating over the broken nails of a lady on the other side of The Atlantic.

It is kind of peaceful... I understand now the dovish look of cows in the pastures...

Foedus sed meus est......It's ugly but it's mine....(Huh??)

So, tell me...
Is it just me....or are there more folks out there that feel the same way?

A long time ago a good friend of mine told me when we were talking various 
things,"If its ugly, its true" and I must say, I have been pondering about that 
ever since... and the more I ponder the more sense it makes these days. 
Now, I am not talking about modernism or Dadaism or Surrealsim or even 
post modernism....this is some kind of waaaay-beyond-
post-modernism...

 

 


      


 
The art scene of the twentieth century IS ugly...there is no doubt there. 
What I am thinking of is not really the fact that it is ugly or that a mere 
4 year old could have done it better etc. What I am trying to get at is to 
reflect on why art turned to this raw cynical cruel meaningless macabre 
horrendous form of expression. From private art to public art, in 
mass media and fashion, in illustrations for childrens books...art 
seems to strive for a base and trivial concept leaving a rather bad taste 
in the mouth afterward.








 

 




Somewhere around the mid and end of the 1800s the world of Art 
started to change - slowly. I have often wondered why. Could it be 
that Man's thought process underwent a radical change, there was
 an advent of pessimistic philosophies revolutions of the 
technological/industrial kind that made people feel a sense of 
non-humanity and that was reflected in art? Beauty and sensual realsim 
that was so much the hallmark of art, seemed to have vanished. 
Instead it was replaced by a non escapist stark reality almost to the 
point of being brutal. Is art then a sign of the times - a Zeitgeist in 
the world of art? A "quest for truth" as one feels it is? In that case I 
must use the words decaying, horrifying, turbulent, depressing and 
pessimistic to describe art. 
 

Duchamp in the early 1900s quite shocked the world by his art (specially 
the Fountain - a urinal) and things have not gotten any better. 

In short - ugly. Once more..... 

Wherever one goes, what one reads or sees - it is amazing to see 
mans preoccupation with the ugly. And somewhere in the depths of my 
being I shudder to think that the truth really is in the changing face of our 
world... it is going from beauty to ugly and the trend in all the spheres of 
our lives is gravitating towards the pessimistic. And we must await a 

Renaissance - of Mind, Body and Soul to turn this around. It is like turning 
the Titanic at a drop of a hat and just as improbable. 



 
But we will wait. 



 
Wait in the sidelines. 
On grassy spots on the edge of the road. 
On the pavements of our lives. 

Wait for The Renaissance.
The impressionists. The sensuous, pastoral, passionate realists....... 
Natural Art like Dürer's Large Turf  (1504...see below) - like photography - 
but with brush strokes rather than with the  shutter.


   

 

 


Lifting our senses. Filling life with beauty. Giving art another dimension 
and meaning. Bombarding our lives with peaceful
brush and pen strokes once again. 


 
Yes, we will wait. 
-
-
-
(Do we have a choice?)
 

Prickles has been "OUR" hedgehog for a number of years now. He comes every summer from Somewhere and every autumn he goes Somewhere. On warm evenings in late May we sit in our glassed in Sun Lounge drinking tea. The Scandinavian sun sets late at night and we are able to enjoy the sights and smells and sounds of our garden, very late in the night.  Suddenly one hears the distinctive shuffle-shuffle and snuffle-snuffle. And then we know...Summer is here to stay - Prickles is back! just like all the rest of our bird and animal friends. Mr and Mrs Singh our blackbird couple, Mr and Mrs Wagtail who nest on our roof, Gregory Peck our woodPECKer giving himself quite a migraine sometimes by mistaking the street lamp post for a birch tree and making such a noise! And Bob-Robin who spends his time on our garden bench sunning himself under the apple tree. Dear Lucy and all her deer friends who dare to come in the early mornings to forage for fresh juicy grass and other deer-snacks. And of course Harry the Hare and his friends...

This summer I have taken quite a few pictures of Prickles. He has been rather bold and brave and did not scuttle away into the undergrowth at the sight of my Olympus - but instead stayed put and almost seemed to smile at my camera and twinkle with his intelligent black eyes.

     
(Prickles under the apple tree)



   

In Sweden, hedgehogs are actually protected by law. You are not allowed to catch or (naturally) hurt them. If we find hurt or underweight hedgehogs out during winter then we may take care of them of course until they can be returned to Nature. I read in the newspaper of a couple who were driving south towards Gothenburg and found a few young hedgehog by the roadside, their mother unfortunately killed in traffic, The couple picked up the young ones and drove nearly 20 kms out of their way to a pet clinic to leave the hedgehogs in protection and care before driving back again towards Gothenburg. I was happy and touched to read that in the newspaper - it certainly gave a much-needed balance in the otherwise violent-war-torn world we live in.

I have read that hedgehogs have changed very little over 13 million years. It is mindboggling. They are nocturnal and live on various insects and are by far the most eco-friendly insecticide one can think of.  Etymologically, the name 'hedgehog' is derived from Middle English and came into use about 1450. As the name aptly suggests it is from Middle English "hegge" which is hedge; and "hogge" which is hog - as it has a snout rather like a pig.

All hedgehogs are nocturnal but some, like Prickles, who is a European species, can come out in the late evening or at sundown and keep close to bushes, hedges, dead leaves and one hears the sudden rustle in the foliage and then you know...! In the harsh winters of Northern Europe they hibernate all winter - P.O is rather jealous of Prickles. He would like nothing better than to duck under the quilt and not have to surface until the pale warmth of spring....

This winter we are certainly blessed!!

A few weeks ago I was autumn-cleaning our open garage (a car port) and found a plastic shopping bag lying under the shelves where we have a few garden and car knick knacks, winter tyres, flower pots and so on. So I pulled it out and the bag got sort of stuck under the shelves and so I tugged it a bit harder to see what was in the bag and to my utter amazement, when I lifted it up and looked inside I found....PRICKLES - all curled up into a tight ball of quills and snuffling rather disapprovingly at me for spoiling his diurnal snooze! He had apparently found a dark cozy place under the shelves and a warm home in the bag...although one does question his intelligence at his choice of home being a plastic bag... but I soundly believe in the democratic right to choose our living quarters...so I left the bag open on the ground hoping that I had not hurt him - and that he would crawl out and find a better place to rest all winter.

After a couple of hours I went to check again and the second surprise of the day lay in store for me. The plastic bag was gone! Amazed yet again I went to the shelf and looked underneath...lo and behold! There was the bag! Prickles had crawled right back again taking his plastic home with him - and there he is till today.

I am sure he is out at night in the dark, foraging for food and just like in a fairy tale, at day break he is back again in his plastic home sleeping in the dark corner of our car port. Yes, we know he is there...there are tiny droppings in front of the car. It will all be part of the spring cleaning of our car port in April 2009.

Yes, I feel so blessed.....

What's in a tomato....right??

Nothing really...

It's Sunday and I am in a Tomato-mood, that all...whatever that is...

No, but honestly, I am actually thrilled...I bought a tomato plant - on the prodding insistence of a good friend and ensuing discussions on the merits of SSS: simplicity, solitude and self reliance. A valuable lesson, a charming book, a good read, a wonderful lifestyle and one I do find absolutely brilliant no matter its edge to transcendental philosophy. But nevertheless, I admit I was sceptical. I admit I was a bit wary of my tomato-plant in the Thoreau-Walden lifestyle in our world so hampered by modernity, I admit I didn't really think I would be able to keep it alive given my total lack of green fingers...

But, it certainly has taught me a lesson in tenacity.

           

I watched it grow from a beautiful tiny yellow flower that shrivelled up into dry papery skin and the first sight of a tiny green tomato no bigger than a child's marble! Oh, what joy, it was alive! And a twin right next to it.  I filled my camera with photos of my green miracle. It was the first tomato I had ever grown. In a flower pot, in our glassed-in Sun Lounge and with plenty of water and a delightful dose of TLC.  I am a long way off from Thoreau's philosophy of self reliance on a pair of tomatoes but the joy was albeit profound.

I always thought that tomatoes were Indian or Italian greenies... what with all our tomato chutneys (with paanch phoron in Bengal...delicious!) and Spaghetti Bolognese a la Italia... and was surprised to learn that it is actually a Mexican fruit/vegetable. It is called xitomatl and means...now listen to this... "plump thing with a navel". Hmmm! I begin to ponder over my penchant for this red sweet tasty plump vegetable... Could its magic lie in its name? Is it my inherent sense of identification with it haha? Well...no matter. It's absolutely wonderful... 

I remember (in India) tomatoes being sold for as low as 25 paisa/kg when I was a kid and we lived on delicious Mum-made juice and chutneys. I had all the tomatoes I could eat! I delighted in Ira/ Gershwin's song "You like tomeiito, I like tomaaahto..." and so on.

And yes, I do say to-maah-to.

But this summer we had visitors from Vancouver, John and his grandma. John is 7. And very Canadian indeed. He was as delighted as I was at our dual pronunciation! He said to-meeiii-to! On 18^th Aug we had our own beautiful La Tomatina Day. In the sunlit Sun Lounge in the late evening while lazy dragonflies chased each other in the setting sun and dinner puttered on the stove ....

John was Guest of Honour. He got to pluck the first ripe "plump thing with a navel" from my plant. I cut it into five equal parts. And garnished it with a dash of salt n pepper. We had cold yummy strawberry wine in tiny wine glasses to go with it and had an inaugural ceremony of it. John phoned his Dad later in Vancouver and the first thing he said: Dad! I Had Strawberry Wine Today!" I guessed "Dad" was not too pleased at this revelation and for fear of not having John visit us again I said in a stage whisper: John! Say it was alcohol free!!! (Oh god, what is Dad thinking of us??)

What I absolutely abhor is the REAL La Tomatina festival somewhere in Spain that I don't remember (and don't care to) where they literally have a battle of throwing simply a hundred tons of to-maaah-toes at each other. It makes no sense to me .... throwing food...? Whatever for?... Have they never heard of the Indian "Holi" festival instead?

Ok, yeah, I get it...Live and Let Live...Right?? 
 But can you honestly enjoy these pictures?

   


(These three pix are from the Internet)

Two Sundays back....
I woke up around 6 am....made my coffee (Yes Instant Nescafé from the store downstairs that Mummy sent me in the last parcel) and wandered to my computer.... and looked out of the sitting room window...
GUESS what I saw in my garden???
Lara and Lea!!



(Yes...at the risk of hearing you burst into laughter all the way to Sweden...let me tell you: ALL MY WILD ANIMALS HAVE NAMES.... there!!! now I have said it...)

I dont need to write more on this...the pictures speak for themselves.....

And all of a sudden something frightened them away and they were gone in a flash......!!!


Signing off for now!

CS

Yes, Sweden....... ...it really is a lot more than Bofors, blondes, ABBA, Björn Borg, Uppsala University , Olof Palme et al.

For those interested in statistics of this tiny country let me, as a layman in this field tell you:
It is the size of Madhya Pradesh
Its entire population is less than Kolkata
Someone has worked out that 7½ "Swedens' will fit into one India
There are statistics on how many cows there are in the country
People don't honk their cars unless in greeting (tut-tut-tut) or the Swedish version of road-rage (a long tooooooot-tooooooot). That is how far these taciturn Swedes go when really angry in traffic quite defying their boisterous, raging looting ancestors The Vikings. And oh yes, five cars and three motorbikes standing still constitutes a traffic jam. Might even be a picture in the newspaper the next day.
The water in all the lakes, streams, rivers are safe, so much so that a walk from the Old Town to the city centre in Stockholm will find anglers sitting on the many bridges that join the islands of Stockholm....enjoying a quiet meditative moment of fishing and yes, catching fish as well.

There are any number of such pleasant and important statistics ...!

But let me take you with me to my favourite town.....

Everyone I have met has heard of Gothenburg, Stockholm, Malmö and so on. Beautiful big cities, well laid out, clean like the rest of the country, museums and culture galore, well maintained architecture from the middle ages and so on and so forth. So...I am not taking you to these big cities but rather to a small beautiful town called Skara.
(Yup! You guessed right....I live there...)

No casual visitor has heard of this charming town, I am sure. It is located between Stockholm and Gothenburg and sandwiched between the two enormous lakes of Sweden: The Vänern and The Vättern (just "below" the town Mariestad on this map) . In the flatlands of this agricultural part of Sweden with fertile fields, enchanting countryside, white birches, blue lakes and golden corn fields (in the summer of course) ...it is a treat for sore eyes.

Skara celebrated its 1000^th birthday in 1988. But compared to Rome, Bonn etc which celebrated their 2000^th birthday around the same time, Skara is just a baby of course! The main landmark is the Cathedral in the centre of the town. Sweden has thirteen dioceses and Skara is one of them - hence the cathedral. (of which I will tell you more some other day) A beautiful High Gothic church built in the 11^th century with natural acoustics in the high vaulted space that beats any Bose, Bang Olufsen or Philips.

But this sort of historical stuff isn't really what I want to tell you about. I would rather tell you about the things that most tourists miss. A visit - of all places - to the pharmacy is really worth it...built in the turn of the century; it has the most amazing teak carpentry, medicinal bottles with old labels and astonishingly, a turquoise tiled sink with a lion's head that spouts water. The kind I have seen all over Italy and while one waits for ones electronic number to come up with a soft "pling' it is worth looking around to marvel at the influence of Italian art in Europe - even as far away as this tiny northern town of Skara.

For those of you silently wondering about my clothes size ...let me tell you  the reason....Cafés and bakeries (yummmmy!) abound. In Skara alone there are six of them!! The cafés all range from the traditional to the modern Barista like cafeterias, selling coffee and breads with Italian names that is all the rage.

The traditional ones however are an experience in themselves. Swedes drink enormous amounts of coffee - I cannot tell you the exact stats on that but sufficeth to know that in Europe they consume the maximum amount of rich strong dark coffee (South American brands) and they also hold the European record on.... bananas. (These kinds of useless facts are what make Sweden Swedish). A traditional cafeteria is really beautiful - with velvet upholstery on Gustavian furniture, old style structured wall paper and art (that one actually understands) hanging on the walls, pastries and cakes (like one would recognise from books and magazines) generously feeding the Swedes' penchant for whipped cream. They say it is because of the sub zero climate. I leave such judgements out...they are delicious no matter the climate - especially creamy vanilla sponge cakes topped with fresh strawberries.  A delight to the taste buds. The bakeries have breads and other goodies that one can smell when parking the car! A Swedish meatball sandwich with beetroot mayonnaise, salad and boiled eggs on rye bread may not be something for the very figure conscious but is well worth the SEK 40 . (Yes, Sweden is part of the EU but has retained its currency)

What one should really do is invest in a good pair of walking shoes (no need to go overboard with Gore-Tex...just simple jogging shoes will do...)  and walk the cobbled stoned roads, alleys, side lanes. There are the most amazing discoveries to be made. Take "the time to stand and stare" at the street lights that once ran on lamp oil and on warm summer evenings when the sun sets long after midnight, I promise you, you will hear the clip clop of horse hooves and the clattering of carriages as they round the bend to where the church is and the beautiful Gothic school built in the mid 1800s. You will hear the gentle hiss of the light as the town watchman lights street-lamps. A Dickensian sight conjured up in all its beauty. The side lanes are dotted with houses a few hundred years old, wrought iron gates and gardens well laid out with the heady perfume of roses, lilacs and honeysuckle - like a Chopin Nocturne for the olfactory senses, the library with its musty smell of books from the early 1500s is a pleasure, the old chestnut trees that tell you of the changing seasons by their very colours, the ruins of the old wall...all are worth taking in on a slow unhurried walk.

One should however take the time to have a break at the tiny shop next to the Town Hall and the fountain selling the most divine tasting ice cream you have ever eaten...well, it is Italian of course...and the chocolate is superb!!!

 Sit in the mild Scandinavian sun on benches in the square, listen to the fountain, the church bells, the quiet sounds of the town weaving through its day at its own unhurried pace. And actually enjoy the sight and sound of traffic sans blaring honks....the sound of a robust V8 engine, the superb design of an unusual Maserati, the sight of a maroon MX5 Miata cruising gently past, roof down, a V70 Volvo full of dogs and children.

The museum has a collection of 3000 year old bronze Viking shields that is amazing. They were found in a nearby field by the farmer when ploughing. Just imagine sitting on your tractor and ploughing and finding something glinting in the sun....!! Archaeologists swarmed his fields and made the most astounding discovery from the Viking Age. The shields and ornaments are minutely restored; a film about the find is beautifully made with Viking music and history spun in between the bee-hive diggings of archaeologists. It is stunning and worth the time spent there. Behind the museum is the Open Air museum where an entire village has been reconstructed with houses, barns, a herbarium, live farmyard animals of that time, a shop and a church that has been brought in from villages around Skara so one may see what a village looked like in the mid 1800s. It is a pleasure to walk there and dream away to another world...another time.....

The lake and botanical gardens is a part of any visit of course.The flora and fauna are of course very Nordic and it is pleasant to sit on the clean green grass and rest awhile. I could go on....but let this be a short introduction to a future self discovery of an old world charm that does not exist in the big cities.

And oh, yes, I quite forgot! Skara boasts of three delightful things:
1.Free parking - no P-meters or meter maids.
2. A delicious Pancake festival when you can eat any amount of it with strawberry jam (and naturally whipped cream!) and
3. The most exotic of all things -. a competition with great prizes on "Cherry-Pips-Spitting"....try and beat that!

Of course there are "worse" ones in Sweden - like Axe Throwing on Tree Trunks competitions.

Is that how the English came up with the (comparatively...) sedate art of playing darts - from the Vikings....
I wonder.

So.......When are you coming for a visit? I will fetch you in Gothenburg...book your ticket and send a mail....

Signing off fo now!
CS

There are sun worshippers.... and then there are sun worshippers. And as we all know - everything is relative.      Be it two-legged sun worshippers on the Sandy beaches.... the four-legged kind. in the pastures..... Or indeed,
yes.....the third kind..........

On my recent visit to India, I saw this young man almost every morning, early as the sun rose, in the same posture....

One late evening when I was talking on the mobile in my balcony he came out too and we.... waved. Hesitantly. But with a smile.  When I had finished on the phone, we got talking..."Hello!" he said,  "Better reception from the balcony isn't it?" I said "Yeah...right!" (What I did not say was I also enjoyed watching the bats in the gourd tree below. I haven't seen bats since I was a little girl...) And so we got friendly across the space that divided our 3^rd floor balconies. He is 22 and studying law. His father is an advocate and he is going to be the same and join his father's firm.

And so my curiosity got the better of me - I asked him about his morning ritual....and yes, it is true...they are sun worshippers....amazing ...I didn't realise there were still "proper" sun worshippers - as a religion so to speak.

And so this boy, Chandra, woke up every morning, had his bath and as soon as he had finished, he would come out and say his prayers facing the sun and ask for his blessings....chanting verses from the Rig Veda in Sanskrit. (Imagine that...) He told me a lot about it and what he prayed for, why, and that their family had been sun worshippers since time immemorial...

While on a visit to Benaras many years ago I saw the Sadhus, yogis, sages with ash on their foreheads and beards and flowers in their hands, stand naked in the holy Ganges facing the sun...(fortunately that is not the case everywhere...!)

Then....Chandra goes in. His Mum calls for his breakfast of hot toast and butter and jam. He dons on Wranglers jeans and Nike t shirt and Adidas shoes. He takes the plastic Microwave-safe box with sandwiches that his Mum has made for his lunch. He kick-starts his motorbike (an Indian 123 cc Bajaj Pulsar) shattering the subdued early morning sounds of a neighbourhood awakening and roars off into the chaos of Hyderabadi traffic....leaving me smiling on my balcony.

And so, in a flash he becomes a part of the modern world and continues his life... The past meets the present. East meets West. Spirituality meets materialism. There is no conflict in this meeting of different worlds. There is, in fact, a soothing sense of continuity and co-existence. A lesson learned indeed. One does not have to give up one for the other. Sun worship and Adidas jogging shoes - they can coexist.- as India seems to prove constantly. 

I found this simply enchanting. It was just so primeval, so ancient, so "core" - it is the kind of things that one has read in our old religious Hindu mythologies, in Greek mythology the sun god Ra, and yes even the Vikings...as one has seen in the film about the shields in Skara Museum. Even though we all more or less believe in the powers of the sun we are not using the sun as our deity .... It was lovely.

I told him I had seen him every morning and liked the aura of peace and faith he exuded and asked him if I may photograph him one day....without his knowing which day. He said it was fine and ?no problems'. So I did....No, I do not take photos paparazzi - style... specially when performing such a personal ritual. Without permission to do so, it is indecent... And since we were so far away he neither heard nor was he distracted by the whirring sound of my Olympus zoom as it captured and preserved these moments of peace as he prayed. His father says his prayers too but he sits on the floor just by the door opening.

Is it a coincidence, I wonder, that his name is Chandra...?

(It is the masculine form of Moon in Hindi.)

When the sun disappears for days in the cold Scandinavian winter I can believe the Vikings worshipped the sun... 

Signing off for now!

CS

"Since golden October declined into sombre November / And the apples were gathered and stored, and the land became brown sharp points of death in a waste of water and mud."....TS Eliot

 Det är tidig vår när jag skriver detta. Snödropparna är ute. Domherrar med sina flickvänner besöker flitigt vårt solrosfröförsedda fågelbord. Det rings samtal för att boka tid för sommarbil besiktningar. För att byta däck. Semester-listor cirkulerar på kontoren. Lediga platser annonserar om sommar vik. Sommardrömmar och planer diskuteras. Och fram kommer de äntligen.... upptinade känslor om frihet, om våren och naturligtvis.....cyklar!!!

Hundratals barn i hela Sverige får äntligen ta fram sina cyklar. Man jublar! Nu är våren här!!! Glädjen lyser i barnens ögon och man känner friheten genom deras ögon. Jag läste i Aftonbladet om våra barn som blir fetare, tjockare, sitter stilla, spelar dataspel, tittar på tv....de ska UT!! Och leka...och dessutom borde man uppmuntra barnen att cykla till och från skolan. Det är PRECIS sådant man borde läsa inför våren. Då kommer man i gång med motion och sunda vanor som har legat på hyllan under de kalla gråmulna vintermånaderna.

Jag har en dotter. Hon och kompisen bestämmer sig för att....just det...cykla till skolan. Jag jublar! Tänk...så bra jag har det som mamma att inte behöva tjata! Jag småmyser hela kvällen...

På morgonen är jag så glad att tjejerna fått en sådan strålande morgon för vårens första cykelfärd. Sen kommer kallduschen: Mamma jag vill inte ha hjälm på mig! Hörde jag rätt? Kan det stämma? En ny dyr hjälm, köpt i höstas i moderiktig färg, fartränder, streamlined vinge i bak och hon vill inte ha den...Den ser inte ens ut som en upp- och nedvänd risskål i kinarestaurangerna....Varför, frågar jag med darrande röst.

Svaret är ännu mer häpnadsväckande....Då blir man retad. Det är mesigt.

Retad? Mesigt? Som förälder som månar om sitt barns säkerhet, som har sett vilka skador "hjälmlöshet" kan åstadkomma, som har en nära vän som har råkat ut just för en så'n olycka och lider än idag fast det har gått många år, som tycker att lagar och ordningar är bra att ha, som tycker om att ha bilbälte... är hjälm en självklarhet.

Var är de vuxna som tar sitt ansvar? Var är politikerna som ska se till att en lag om obligatorisk hjälm (även efter 15 års ålder) är lika självklar som att köra bil med bilbälte? Var är lärarna som ska se till att våra ungdomar är säkra i trafiken till och från skolan? Var är alla cykelförbunden som ska se till att en sån fråga drivs igenom? Varför är det så att man inte kör ens till stan och tillbaka utan bilbälte eller att spänna fast ett barn ordentligt?

Vad är det som gör det "mesigare" senare i livet? Är huvudet plötsligt så starkt att man inte behöver skydda det? Är cyklister och bilförare så duktiga på gatorna så att olyckor aldrig händer? Var är de vuxna som cyklar med hjälm på? Finns det inte hjälmar som passar huvudstorlekarna? Eller tror man verkligen på Norge-skämtet: när man slängde ner en mössa och en hjälm från ett högt torn så blev det ingen spricka i mössan men däremot blev det på hjälmen .....och därmed är en mössa säkrare?

Jag såg min dotter cykla iväg denna soldränkta vårlika morgon. Med hjälm på. Dock utan ett leende. Ska ansvarsfulla föräldrar behöva handskas med sån't varje gång man är konsekvent vad gäller säkerhet? Jag skrek till hennes snabbt försvinnande ryggtavla: Var stark! Det är okej att vara annorlunda! Det är DITT huvud vi pratar om!!

Okeeeejdå! kom ett litet irriterat svar med vinden.

Signing off for now!
CS
= (Cresat Scientia - May knowledge grow/ Må kunskapen växa)